The Wiped Slate
by waterlit
Summary: More than a century later, no one remembers the danger and the ancient war. They think Allen's going mad.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Wiped Slate**  
**

**Pairing(s):** No pairings planned for now, but this may change.

**Summary**: More than a century later, no one remembers the danger and the ancient war. They think he's going mad.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own DGM, quite obviously.

* * *

"In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost."

– Dante Alighieri, Inferno

* * *

(The 19th century)

A sword against his throat, a pain in his side.

Allen takes a deep breath and looks the Earl in his eyes. "You're lying."

"I am not," the Earl says simply.

The Earl withdraws his sword. Allen allows himself to relax for a moment, allows himself to breath freely, allows himself to lower his own sword to the ground.

Then the Earl raises his sword to the sky, and Allen braces himself for the next blow. It doesn't come. What does come is a flash of lightning, splitting asunder the fabric of the grey sky.

In that moment, when everything sizzles white-hot, Allen sees Lenalee sprawled on the ground, struggling against Lulu Bell's talons; he sees Lavi and Fiidora face to face, with Lavi writhing against Fiidora's hold. Kanda too, is bleeding from wounds Allen cannot see. He swings Mugen, and Tyki Mikk meets the sharp blade with ease, allowing the sharp edge to slice through his momentarily non-existent flesh.

Then the Earl laughs. The lightning kisses the tip of his blade, and Allen waits for the Earl to char and fall.

But that is not what happens.

What happens is that the light becomes so blinding that Allen cannot see, and so he closes his eyes. Nothing comes after. There is no smell of something burning, none of the cascade of terrible yells that usually accompanies bloodthirsty fighting. There is no more pain, no more wind, just an abyss of darkness. That is Allen's last thought.

Then the world winks out.

* * *

(The 21st century)

Sometimes, Allen Walker thinks about killing himself. He wonders how it would be like to place a knife against his throat, cold blade breaking soft skin, and then to feel the rush of blood out his jugular vein with every faltering beat of his heart. Other times, he thinks about swallowing death, and going in silence to his long sleep.

No one remembers the past, now. No one remembers the danger. He is the only one left in the mire, his very existence a living hell, one foot in the present and another in the past.

When sleep comes to him, he dreams of red dawns and sorrowful sunsets, of ashes and dust. First, there is darkness, and then the sky blinks into view, fading into a silent night.

Then there is mist, and then there are monsters, rising from the valleys and the moors, their silhouettes dark against the full moon, these strange creatures wrought of steel and iron. He can remember the pain, the agony – the distorted souls calling for help, the searing pain of the Akuma bullets, the grey, crumbling skin of the dying and the ashes that paint the sky a dreary empty-black.

And then he wakes, bathed in the morning light, drenched in sweat, his heartbeat erratic and fast.

_These are nightmares_, Lenalee tells him. _Why don't you visit a psychiatrist?_ And she should know, for she works under the auspices of a distinguished mental health provider. But Allen says, _no, no_, always _no_, for who could understand such twisted dreams? Who might understand how real the dreams are, how he wakes with terror in his blood and the nightmares that waking cannot chase away, still coursing through the routine of his daily life?

He knows, though he cannot bring himself to say it – he _knows_ that these dreams are parts of his past, things he experienced ages ago, when they were still – no, he still cannot say it.

For there was a war. The dreams tell him that much.

There was a war, and he had fought in in it, lifetimes ago. Was it lifetimes ago? It seems right to believe so, and yet Allen cannot shake off the feeling that he is still in the same lifetime, still the same person who fought those metal monsters in the streets of a Victorian city. And yet, how could it be? After all, he lives in the twenty-first century.

Then one day the answers come in the prism of his demented sleep. In the midst of carnage, he stands outside the destroyed headquarters, watching as the blood-red moon shivers in the grey dawn. The crumbling towers reach into the firmament, gothic and broken, and the Earl bears down on the host of the church.

Lightning flares – the Earl raises his sword – the battlefield disappears.

So, the story is this: one day, more than a century ago, Allen closed his eyes, and woke up the next day, a hundred years older and yet none the wiser.

Two years after he awoke in this strange world, with its fast automobiles and its tall glass buildings, with its cold people and surreal landscape, he still has no idea how he ended up in a strange century, with no Akuma in sight. Where are the monsters hiding now? Where is the blood, the bullets, the death throes of a rotten world?

No one else remembers.

None of his friends – Lenalee, Lavi, Kanda – heed his warnings about the impending battle.

But can't they remember the blood, the toil? Can't they see the ghosts of the past, closing in with every night? Can't they feel the tentacles of the Earl around them, his very guile? Can't they see the faces, the tears, his fright?

The dreams are more vivid now – they paint his nights red, drawing blood and gnawing away at his memories and his sanity. Soon, one day, the Earl will rise again, and they will be doomed to a land of depravity and sin.

* * *

Lenalee looks at the sleeping figure beside her. "You sure about this, Lavi?"

Lavi shrugs. "This is the only way, Lena."

The drugged figure in the back seat bounces slightly as Kanda rushes the car over a tall road bump and finally coasts to a rough stop. "Here," Kanda says. "Now get out."

"Get a wheelchair, Lena," Lavi says. "I can't carry him, and Yu won't."

Lenalee grabs the nearest wheelchair; together, the three friends wheel an unconscious boy into the Noah Hospital situated at the outskirts of town. They are met by a tall doctor with a flirtatious smile and a head of curly, dark hair.

"How can I help you?" the doctor asks.

Lavi glances at the man's badge. "Ah – Dr Mikk? We're here with our friend… he's a little not right in the head. So we thought we'd bring him to be evaluated."

"You're looking for the psychiatric department," Dr Mikk says. "Take that elevator, and go up to the thirteenth floor. Dr Kamelot will examine him shortly."

The three wheel the unconscious boy away, and Dr Mikk allows himself one feral grin before he turns back to his work.

* * *

_(The Saga of the Sleeping Warriors)_

_Once upon a time, in a land and time unknown, a strong and hardy folk took their last stand against a race of monsters. After centuries of warfare unending and deaths unnumbered, the defenders were tired but unyielding. _

_Then came the day when the invaders brought their host to stand before the crumbing walls; archers pointed their bows upwards, and catapults loaded like serpents waiting to strike. _

_The leaders of the defenders came to the fore to the succour of the soldiers, their dark cloaks flapping in the angry wind. They stood on the heights of the broken walls, looking down at the strange men who had come to harry them and destroy them. _

_They called upon their ancient magic, their lore of wood and of stone, their love for the trees and the animals and the empty plains where a man could ride a full day and not see another village. They prayed and thought of their fears of being hemmed in and oppressed by ones who did not understand them, and they called upon their ancient gods to rise from deep sleep and endow them with magic unencumbered. _

_The tide of the battle turned. The defenders were winning. And in that hour, the victory would have been theirs. _

_However, the chief of the invaders stepped forth just when his host was being decimated at the greater rate. Casting back his hood, his curls flying free, he cursed the land and the ancient gods and brought forth a greater power of destruction. _

_He killed not, for he would not dirty his hands, but he cast the defenders into a deep sleep from which they were not to awaken. The lands he took, and the ordinary folk, and soon the memory of the defenders passed away like a whisper in a gale. No minstrel's tale spoke of them, no bards sang of them._

_The brambles grew thick over the abandoned fort, and the warriors slept on through the spiralling years. The clouds were always grey over that land, and birds sang no more in the nearby forests. The fort became a place of sepulchral splendour, a decaying town where the river of time no longer flowed. It was a thing of beauty, and a thing of tragedy, a cairn for those lost in a miasma of enchanted sleep. _

_At last, when three whole centuries had passed, the spell passed, collapsing in on itself, and the warriors awoke. Again they donned their armour and sharpened their weapons, and set out to hunt their enemies, their ancient enmity still unforgotten despite the long intervening years._

_When asked, they would say, a war is never over until the last of the enemy lies buried under the soil. _

_And so, they hunted._

* * *

**AN**: First posted on 19 July 2014, rewritten as of 17 July 2016. This was only ever meant to be a one-shot, at least until sometime earlier this year. I have rewritten and revised the original chapters 1-3... Many thanks to the reviewers whose comments motivated my lazy arse to rewrite this.

The premise of this fic: The Earl moves the war through time. Basically one moment they're fighting in the 19th century, and the next, they're living in the 21st century with no inkling of their past and nothing in their minds but manufactured memories. This is not a reincarnation fic. This scenario was inspired by EulaliaGal's fic _Yearn _(which is a beautiful read).

I hope you'll enjoy this. Thanks for reading, and con-crit is always welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** wipe the slate

**Disclaimer:** -disclaimed-

**Pairing:** No pairings - this chapter is Lenalee-centric with brief mentions of the others.

**AN:** So here's another chapter. I didn't expect/intend to write one, but somehow this got written. Hope you'll enjoy this - and thanks for reading.

Edit (17/07/16): Chapter 2 was first posted on 24 Jan 2016. Rewritten and revised as of 17 Jul 2016.

* * *

Christmas greeting card, dated December 2013

_So… We've had a fun year, haven't we? I'm looking forward to more skiing, beach days, road trips and sleepovers in 2014! You guys really make life worth living. _

_So – Merry Christmas to you – and send my regards to Komui too! We'll have to catch up when Cross and I return from Anita's. _

_Love, _

_Allen_

_We damned him_, Lenalee thinks, tracing the rough edge of the old greeting card. The thin, sharp edge of the dusty card slices across her fingers. It hurts, a startling pain that subsides into a dull throb. And yet it cannot call away the darkness that nibbles on her heart. It cannot recall the past, the old joy, the fleeting happiness of childhood.

What hurts even more is the knowledge that they have betrayed Allen. Allen, who is their friend; Allen, who is one of the sweetest and kindest souls Lenalee has ever known. They have betrayed Allen, Allen with his sad, lonely eyes, and his big, tired smile, whose sorrows are too many to count, whose fears are a nightmare beyond the comprehension of their buried minds.

Now, Allen has his own room in the asylum, and a poor prognosis of recovery. He's safe in the keeping of Dr Kamelot, kept in isolation for his own safety. He has been there for a good six months.

Even so, Lenalee's heart shrivels up in guilt. Not a day passes that Lenalee does not think about him.

By all accounts they did the right thing in entrusting Allen's condition to the professionals, but there is a feeling lurking deep in her bones, the same strange intuition which keeps the adventurer safe from the beasts lurking deep in unexplored woods. The feeling tells her that something is wrong here. Something has gone terribly, irrevocably wrong. _We have doomed Allen_. And yet she cannot explain why.

Instead, Lenalee trudges on, pushing through the curtains of the fleeting days, half in this world and half in her own mind.

This continues until the dreams come for her as well.

* * *

First there is the sea; she can smell the salty sea breeze, can hear the tired thrill of lapping waves. The cold fingers of the wind find purchase on her skin, skim through the curtain of her hair.

Then there is something tight, something binding her – black ropes (so it seems to her in that delirious, demented moment) snake around her ankles, like serpents waiting for the kill, waiting to fell her in one lazy, piercing bite.

And then water – lots and lots of it – everywhere; in her hair, in her hands, in her mouth, in her lungs. She coughs and spits and kicks and yet the black ropes hold true. The black creature – monster, rather – with strange tendrils reaching out from its sides – looks at her through the windows of his fingers and laughs gleefully. The sound cuts through the still air and grates her nerves. This must be how a banshee's shriek sounds like, she thinks.

She twists and turns, prey in the predator's mouth, feels the gravity of water pushing against her frail human body. She wonders if this is how it's like to be buried alive, as if she were a whore accused of heresy and adultery in olden times.

The pain binds her, courses through her, tears her apart.

Then she wakes, the sea water still burning her throat, the glimpses of seaweed and broken masts still fresh in her mind, the smell of the sea still heavy in her hair, a scream half choked in her tight, swollen throat.

* * *

Now Lenalee can't eat.

Komui, half-awake, scribbles on his papers, equations and numbers spilling over the edge of the paper and onto the kitchen table. He doesn't notice when Lenalee pours her tea down the sink, doesn't notice when she slides the contents of her bowl into the bin.

_It's just a nightmare_, she tells herself, in the safety of her room as the sunlight makes everything safe. _Just a nightmare. I've been thinking too much about Allen_.

And yet, that night, the nightmares come again. Now she is tied up on a bed, long hair trailing down her sides, and a man looms over her.

"I want to go home," she says, tears on her cheeks and blood in her mouth.

"I don't want to slap you again, girl," the man says. "So don't give me any more cheek."

They lock her away in the dark, uncaring of the monsters that prowl through the night, unaware of the skeletons that hide in the closet.

She dreams of a boy in Hevlaska's tendrils, dreams of the same haggard boy turning to her and waving through the slit of the slightly open door, dreams of the boy set alight with the unholy light of a fallen angel.

She dreams of darkness, and death, and mawed Finders. Of piles of clothes and dust, of empty houses and open graves.

She calls for her brother, and he doesn't come. He can't hear her, after all.

* * *

One day, there is a flicker in Lenalee's memory. A long-hidden memory, of a tall man with curly hair and a ready crescent smile and long, thin fingers dancing through the air. Of hope lost and the salty tang of blood. Of the bitter price of almost-defeat and the rotting core of their weakening resistance. Of Lavi – a different Lavi, who? – lost to those who loved him, taken in his prime and ensnared with bugs no one could see, until he could barely fight even in the final stages of the ancient war.

Sheril Kamelot. She remembers him now, the ancient memory dredged up from deep sleep.

The next day, Lenalee goes to see Allen in the asylum.

He is hunched over in bed under the grey blanket, his hair a mess, his eyes large and hungry for human interaction. There are bags under his eyes.

"Allen," Lenalee says, reaching for his hands.

He pulls away. "Lenalee," he says. Then he adds, "I'm not crazy. I swear I was telling the truth about –"

"I know."

"Then why did you… why did you all – how could you?"

"I just found out the truth," Lenalee says. She takes a seat, unable to meet Allen's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Al. So, so sorry. We should never have doubted you."

A silence. Then – "You remember?"

"I've been having dreams," Lenalee said. "I've been so frightened. I hoped they were not real. I thought they were nightmares. And then I knew. They're memories."

Allen nods. "We fought those monsters once. They're called Akuma."

"Akuma. What a dreadful name." Lenalee covers her eyes with cold palms. "I wish – I wish this were not real."

Allen lays a cold palm against Lenalee's head. "I wish so too."

Lenalee looks up. "There is one more thing," she says. She rolls up the hems of her jeans to display her ankles. There is a cross etched into each ankle, both brown-red scars.

"When did this…"

"Yesterday," Lenalee says. "I – I tried to invoke Dark Boots." The name felt so unfamiliar on her tongue, the heritage of a different, more difficult life.

"And?" Allen leans forward, staring intently at the scars.

"Nothing happened. I … I must say I was a little disappointed."

"So you don't have your weapon either," Allen notes.

"I am so, so frightened," Lenalee says. "I really – I'm so afraid Komui will notice. It's a good thing Reever's been bugging him with a great deal of work lately. What should I say if he asks?"

Allen shrugs. This is but one question he has no answer to.

Lenalee sighs. "What a predicament we are in. Is it possible that we are wrong? Maybe the Earl is long dead, and these are simply nightmares?"

"I don't think so," Allen says. Then he asks – "What will you do?"

"What can I do? If I talk about it – they will think I've gone mad too."

"The danger is coming," Allen says. There is something close to terror in his gentle voice.

"I know. But … how can I get them all to see sense? Where are our weapons? Where are the others?"

"Miranda, Krory," Allen says. "Marie, Timothy. My master."

"Yes," says Lenalee. "Where are they? Where are Miranda and Krory? And Marie? And Timothy? And does Mr Cross remember yet?"

"No," Allen says. He tries to smile but doesn't quite succeed. "It's a pity he doesn't yet. He could change the way things are, if he regains his memories – but."

"I should ask him," Lenalee says feverishly.

"He came to see me recently," says Allen. "He called me a brat and told me to keep my mouth shut Iin future before saying stupid things, _see where that has gotten you, you little piece of shit_, quote, unquote."

"What should I do?"

"You must find them," Allen says. "Or we shall all be doomed."

"I will try," Lenalee says.

* * *

And so it comes that the threads of the abandoned tapestry fall into place.

Lenalee makes sure to visit Allen every Friday. She sits for hours in his room, talking of everything and nothing, watching with pained eyes as Allen hunches over on the stiff mattress, hands folded limply in his lap.

"We've got to do something," she says one day.

Outside, grey stretches of cloud hang heavy in the sky. Angry thunder rings through the sky, the booming reminder of nature's fury.

Allen watches the wind sweep fallen leaves across the road. "There's nothing we can do."

"We should tell them, maybe –"

"It won't work, Lenalee. They'll think you're crazy." _As you thought I was. _The words left unsaid are sour on Allen's tongue, and bitter to Lenalee's ears.

Lenalee's shoulders slump. She leans back against the hard wooden back of her chair, feels the carved sides creak into the contours of her bones. She thinks on the nightmares that have creeped up on her of late, of twisted metal and black blood, of monstrous magic and weeping widows, of death and decay and devastation unending.

"So we just wait to die?" she chokes out, at last. Again, Eishii comes to mind, and she can almost feel the cold grasp of metal searing across her skin. Shivering, she pushes the thoughts away.

Allen manages a wintry smile. "We have no weapons, Lena."

In the sudden glare of lightning that lights up the room with an unholy brightness, Lenalee looks at Allen and sees a death mask looking back at her. She shivers and wishes deeply for sturdy boots, the power of flight, and the wind in her hair.

"What have we become?" she says, and looks back at Allen.

In the half-light, Allen shakes his head and wraps his blanket tighter around himself. He has no words left to describe their most unfortunate predicament.

"This cannot be the end," she says, alight with righteous fury.

"Let the dead bury the dead," Allen says, still and unmoving.

"You have to walk on," Lenalee says. "Remember the promise you made all those years ago."

"I have to walk on…" Allen says, almost wonderingly. "Mana said that, didn't he? But then again he wasn't who I thought he was."

"Does it matter? Think on the Mana you knew and loved."

"Mana and Neah," Allen says. "Two traitors."

"Are you still there, Allen?" Lenalee says. She can't face him, can't force herself to look into those increasingly empty eyes.

"Am I?"

"Please remember why we fight, Allen," Lenalee says. "Remember what you used to say. Your left arm for the Akuma, your right for the humans."

"I will try," he says, and in this lifetime, it is Lenalee who takes him into her arms.

She folds him into her embrace and strokes his hair. "You've suffered so much, Allen. But you must walk on. You have a world to save, Destroyer of Time."

"Maybe I was meant to destroy the world," Allen says.

Lenalee bites back her tears, the pain of the years, and hugs Allen tighter.

He doesn't hug her back.


	3. Chapter 3

Then one day, it is Kanda who wakes sweating and trembling, his soul trampled and his memories awakened.

There had been a field of golden flowers, and a flaxen-haired woman who waved a handkerchief at him across the length of gold-and-green. She held the hand of a young boy, who in turn raised his hand to Kanda.

Then the woman and the boy turned and walked away, their silhouettes vanishing into the rolling mist. Kanda felt the twist of a knife in his heart. It seemed that his very soul was being torn asunder – by what, he did not know.

_Stay_, he mouthed, but the two did not reappear from the grey nothingness they had wandered into. There was only him amidst the flowers and the trees, the setting sun a dash of red against the empty sky.

* * *

Then come the nightmares.

Gunmetal grey monsters, shrieking in the night; a red dawn, and a man tied upside down to a lamp post, his face grey in tragic death.

A lotus flower, fully blooming.

Kanda remembers.

Kanda remembers the dance of death, the thrill of the chase, the clean slice of metal through metal. Kanda remembers the draughty corridors of an ancient castle, the deep-bellied echo of metal bells ringing out the hour, the steep precipices of a different lifetime.

Kanda remembers a singing doll in a dusty and thirsty abandoned town, remembers Tiedoll in a uniform with twinkling gold buttons, remembers the intense fight with Skinn Bolic that left the Noah dead.

He remembers the first death, reawakening as a child, and then his second death, holding tight in his arms the broken body of Alma Karma. He remembers fading in the ruined city of Martel, his back painful against the sun-scorched stones, watching as the memories of his past turn to dust.

He remembers returning to the Order, remembers the deathbed of Zu Mei Chang, remembers his acceptance of Mugen yet again, the magic of Innocence taking root in his blood, staking its claim in his body when it burst out the veins of his forearms.

* * *

The next Friday, Allen awakes to see Kanda walking into his room.

"Why are you here, BaKanda?" Allen says, not even bothering to push away the covers and sit up.

"To see whether you're alive," Kanda says.

"I'm alive. You can leave now."

But Kanda doesn't budge. Instead, he pats the side his waist, as if remembering the ghost of a sword that used to hang just so against his thigh.

"Well?" Allen says.

Kanda cuts quickly to the chase. "I've had the dreams too."

"Oh?" Allen finally sits up straight. "Lenalee too. Did you know?"

Kanda raises an eyebrow. "She didn't tell me that."

"Of course not, you arse."

"Shut up. That's three of us."

"Yes."

"So what now?"

"I don't know," Allen admits. "I don't even know where our weapons are now."

"Your arm still looks red and scaly," Kanda offers. _Is that Crowned Clown? he wonders. It looks the same as it ever did. _

Allen rolls his eyes. "Yes, I can see that. And no, before you ask, it doesn't work as it did."

"Pity," Kanda says.

"I think we will all slowly awake. Before the battles start again."

Kanda doesn't see the point in continuing the conversation any longer. "Alright then. I have no interest in being a hero, anyway."

Allen smiles for the first time in days. "We weren't heroes," he says. "We were called _exorcists_, back then."

* * *

The council of war starts the very next week.

At exactly four in the afternoon, Kanda and Lenalee meet at the main entrance to their campus and then take Kanda's motorcycle to the asylum.

Allen is already waiting when they arrive; he has gotten himself out of bed today in anticipation of their meeting. When they enter, they find him pacing the room, hands clasped behind his back. He turns, smiles, and offers a greeting, the cheeriest he has been in quite a long while.

"How should we do this?" Lenalee asks when they are all seated.

"Isn't it strange that it should be us three?" Allen says.

"Hmm?" says Lenalee.

"The adults don't remember," Allen says.

Kanda leans back in his chair. "Tch. They're not much use anyway."

Allen decides to point out the obvious. "Neither are we, without our weapons."

"Where do you suppose the Innocence went?" Lenalee says.

"They could be anywhere," Allen says. "Perhaps Hev still exists somewhere, in the ruins of the old Headquarters, waiting for us to return. Or perhaps the Innocence fragments are hidden in diverse places."

"You don't know for sure, Beansprout," Kanda says.

"Of course I don't! I've been locked up in here, no thanks to you!" A deep breath. "We have to find out, somehow."

"We're in London," Lenalee says. "Kanda and I could explore around, see if Hev is still around."

"Such a waste of time," Kanda grumbles.

"It has to be done," Allen says. "I'd help if I weren't institutionalised here."

Lenalee looks at Allen. "Should we tell Lavi, do you think?"

"Why involve someone whose memories haven't returned?" says Kanda.

"We could try," Allen says. "But I think, this time Kanda is right."

"Of course I'm right."

"We can't force them to remember," Allen says. He turns his face away from them. "We can only hope they get the dreams soon. We need all the help we can get. Even if we three manage to get back our Innocence weapons somehow."

"Tch," says Kanda.

"Be careful around Dr Kamelot," Lenalee says.

"I know," Allen says simply. "I know, Lenalee. Dr Kamelot and Dr Mikk. Sheril Kamelot and Tyki Mikk."

In the silence that follows, they look at each other, palm lying against palm, and know that there is little reason to doubt that a painful, bloodthirsty deluge will follow in due course. For the Earl is strong and crafty, and the Noahs age not and die seldom, and the Exorcists of old have been recessed into a scattered people who do not recall their ancient lineage.

And so the world will end in ashes and dust and blood.

But there is time yet, and miles to go before they grieve in the terrible certainty of victory lost.

* * *

AN: First posted on 6 Jul 2016, revised and rewritten as of 17 Jul 2016.

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed this!


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** As Chapters 1-3 have been revised and rewritten as of today, it might be a good idea to skim through them again before reading this chapter as I did add a few things to the previous chapters. However, I wouldn't say they are major additions so feel free to simply read only Chapter 4.

Thanks for reading, hope you'll enjoy this.

* * *

It is Kanda who sounds Lavi out.

One week after the first war council, Lavi drags Kanda to the arcade, and Kanda doesn't resist. He puts up a few customary grumbles, but otherwise allows Lavi to pull him along. Lavi looks concerned for a moment, when he finds nothing but a courtesy resistance, but doesn't comment on Kanda's abnormal behaviour.

Then, after Lavi achieves a high score for shooting countless zombies, Kanda stands up and points at the screen. "What if this were real?" he says.

"Say what?" Lavi says.

"I said, what would you do if this were real?"

"Oh, come on, Yu, don't joke around. Zombies aren't real and you know it. You do know, right? You can't be that ignorant? Oh, maybe you are that ignorant. I really hope not –"

"Why do you always talk so much?" Kanda presses his fingers against his temples. "What if I said there was a way to bring the dead back to life?"

Lavi laughs. "Honestly, Kanda – if I thought you weren't joking –" He catches sight of Kanda's face. "You aren't joking? Come on, Yu, really. You and I both know there aren't any zombies in this world. It's scientifically impossible. It's a nullity."

"No."

"What's wrong with you, Yu? Is something wrong?"

"Have you had the dreams?"

"What dreams?" asks Lavi. "You okay, man? You're really off today, you know?"

Kanda groans. "Never mind. Play your game."

With that, Kanda exits the room, leaving a puzzled Lavi staring after him. Kanda pulls up a message chat group, and types, _Lavi doesn't fucking remember_.

* * *

Strangely enough, Link's memories are the next to come back.

One fine day, while Link is in the middle of typing out a long report, double-spaced and in font size twelve, in his tidy office in a law enforcement bureau, a terrible headache hits him. When two tablets of pain-relief medicine do nothing for his state, he gets up, sways, and somehow finds his way to the washroom.

The nausea hits badly, a vortex in his abdomen, and rings of thunder against his skull. He throws up, and then cleans up as best he can through the double-vision. He leans his head against the cool walls of the stall, and tries to empty his mind.

But he finds that his mind is chaotic, a deadly sea in the grasp of a dark and terrible storm. No matter which way he steers, he finds himself in the throes of a deadly fear waiting to strangle him.

When he opens his eyes, he sees both the white tiles of the toilet cubicle and a different world – a world of shadows, a world of pain, a world brimming with anxiety and teetering on the edge of destruction.

Shadows dance across the stage of the _other_ world, the flitting memories of things lost ground to dust.

Link watches, his mind hazy. He sees himself, in a thick coat, marching after a young boy with snow-white hair. He sees the same young boy pinned to the ground by rectangular strips of paper, sees an empty room with its lone glass window cracked and broken, blood sloshed over the windowsill.

He sees a scene of despair, marble columns and balustrades yielding to the forces of gravity, thick wafts of grey smoke curling across the floor as a thing with wings and a cherubic face flies above the scene of carnage. He sees blood and death and piles of empty clothing and thinks, _I know this place. I lived here once._ He sees the boy lying prone on the ground, sees himself spring up, knives shooting out from under his sleeves. _I could do that?_

He sees the boy fight, sees the boy triumph, sees the boy fall into another snare. He sees the boy cast into captivity. He sees the pain in the boy's eyes, the loss, the fear.

He sees a kind-faced man step into the boy's prison cell, sees his own eyes speared by the man's strange powers. Sees himself die. As the scene unfolds, Link intuitively clutches his chest, reliving again the phantom stab of a strange weapon the world had not known before.

He sees a large man fighting the boy in a cobblestoned street, sees the boy double over in pain, sees himself – _I thought I was dead? _– rush over, binding spells at the ready.

He sees himself kneel before the boy, sees his lips moving. Then he thinks, _I am to become the Fourteenth's ally and yet deep within me I pray for Allen Walker to rally against his sorrowful fate_. These thoughts are foreign to his mind, and yet he recognises the tenor in them, recognises the depth of his plea and wonders at the protective instinct that soars up in his breast at the mention of the name Allen Walker.

_Who is this Allen Walker?_

When the nausea passes and the headache dies out, Link shakes the cobwebs of his fears from his hair and wipes the grotesque shadowy scenes from the contours of his eyelids. He stands before his desk, and pulls up a database. He is determined to discover who Allen Walker is.

When the search results come in, and he finds out that a white-haired youth, one Allen Walker, has been institutionalised in the Katerina Campbell Psychiatric Institute located within the St Noah Hospital in the south of the city.

_I will find him and get to the bottom of this,_ he thinks. Jaws clenched, Link checks the address and ward number, and makes a mental note to free up his schedule on the morrow.

* * *

Lenalee and Kanda wander among the strange artefacts.

They have somehow found their way to catacombs long described as nearly impossible to explore. Generations of explorers, professional and amateur alike, have catalogued the catacombs as being stubborn and closed off.

And yet somehow, Lenalee and Kanda have managed to pass through three levels of buried rock and stone.

There is a strange feeling to the rocks and stones here, an intensity of knowledge that emanates off them. Lenalee feels the draw of the place, as if the very foundations are calling out to her.

"This place is very strange," she remarks.

"Yes," Kanda says. "And dangerous."

"I feel like I know this place."

Kanda nods.

"Do you think it might be?"

When Kanda doesn't answer, Lenalee turns back. She finds Kanda staring through what appears to be a hole in the ground.

"Kanda?"

But Kanda doesn't respond.

Lenalee tries again. "Kanda? Are you alright?"

Kanda startles. Slowly, he looks at Lenalee. "I think we've found the place." He beckons her over to the hole.

Together they gaze into the darkness, and feel the pull of the centuries. This is a feeling they both know, a feeling of desperation. Hurt and pain galore ratchet through their minds, and freeze their very blood. There is a memory here of something despicable, something that tormented countless children. There has been death here, and a slaying of fallen angels.

Kanda and Lenalee look at each other, at a loss for words. They remember, these two comrades, they remember the trials of the past, blood spilled and blood lost, the indescribable pain of a forced synchronization with the cruel talons of the Innocence.

Kanda almost sighs. "We've found the place."

When she is able to speak past the lump in her throat, Lenalee takes Kanda's hand. "Yes, I think we've found the place."


	5. Chapter 5

Lenalee and Kanda decide against jumping straight into the hole in the ground. Instead, they wander on, passing tapestries of moss and lichen and blank stretches of weathered grey stone.

After an hour, Lenalee sighs and leans against the rock. "I'm so tired… Let's take a break."

Kanda runs a hand across the grey stone, almost wonderingly. The usual anger has left his face, and now he looks young and tired, and almost _innocent_. "Perhaps there's no other way down."

"Maybe we should head back, then," Lenalee says. "We can come back another day with some rope or something, and see if we can find out how deep that hole is."

Kanda looks down at Lenalee. "Wait here. I'll explore a little further. Just in case."

And so Kanda walks on, his footsteps fading into the eerie silence, his shadow blending into the darkness.

Lenalee sits on the ground and waits. Five minutes – ten minutes – and then fifteen minutes. She starts to get antsy as the minute hand of her watch travels in that infinite circle. Surely Kanda couldn't have put himself into danger or fallen into some abyss?

In the watchful darkness, with rock and stone overhead and the history of torture echoing off the rocks, Lenalee waits. She shines her torch here and there, studying the stone, wondering if in ages past she once walked here and watched the sky, watched the sun set and rise, or rose in trembling flight when the Akuma came to attack.

She runs a hand against the stone too. _Is this where it all began?_ Here, where the shadows lie long and the silence grows thick, here where time stands still and the past hangs heavy like a musty curtain in an abandoned mansion, here where the foundations of their twisted lives lie buried under an avalanche of years.

"Lenalee." Kanda is back, tall and still in a tiny circle of light. "I've found a way."

Further down in the shifting darkness there is a path leading to what looks to be an endless curve of stairs. Together, they stumble down these roughly-hewn stairs, fighting always to gain purchase against the slippery rock.

"There used to be a lift here," Lenalee says, after a while.

"It's long gone," Kanda says brusquely. He too remembers a lift, an inverted pyramid which often spiralled through the air, going up and down the central shaft, carrying the crazy supervisor more often than not.

"I –"

"Wait." Kanda holds up a hand, pointing downwards.

In the distance, Lenalee sees a glimmer of soft light.

"Hurry," Kanda says. He continues down the stairs, unheeding of uneven rock and water that drips ominously down from the high ceiling.

When they finally leave the stairs and step off into another dark cavern, they find their torches quite unnecessary. Here, deep in the earth, following a path long hidden, they have come full circle. Here, they are again in the midst of history, here where a shaft of blinding light extends from the floor to the ceiling in the middle of the cavern.

Here, Lenalee is sure, Hevlaska waits, within the column of light.

Kanda strides forward till he stands before the column. "We should break it."

"Do you suppose it would be safe to?"

"You have any other suggestion?"

"No…"

"Then I'll break it," Kanda says. He grabs a large rock sitting nearby.

Lenalee looks away. If Kanda is wrong… She can't witness this destruction, can't handle the breaking of another part of her world.

The seconds crawl like hours as Kanda lifts the rock and smashes it into the column of light.

A sound like thunder.

A flash of blinding light.

Then _nothing_.

* * *

Howard Link is a very responsible sort of person; the kind of employee a supervisor might entrust weighty tasks to. The kind of employee who might work overtime more often than necessary in order to keep up with his own sense of duty and dedication.

Today, however, Link tidies his desk at five-thirty sharp, when the golden light of the sun still floods the sky. He walks out the door at the same time as the oldest secretary, the one who makes it a point to bitch daily about having to cook dinner for her ungrateful children and husband.

The far horizon has turned a lovely shade of purple and pink by the time he reaches the Katerina Campbell Psychiatric Institute. The sun hangs low and sleepy against the horizon, a mere dash of faded orange blinking out.

Link enters the sterile lobby, and ultimately finds his way to Allen Walker's room, in spite of the various unhelpful directions given by dour nurses and rude doctors.

Link knocks. When the door opens, Link stares at Allen Walker – for surely, this must be him, this young man with long white hair and bits of fringe sticking into his eyes, this young man with the red, scarred arm and a haunting look in his sea-grey eyes.

_Allen Walker. The Destroyer of Time. _

The memories dredge up again; crystalline threads and angelic demons pelting poisonous bullets and his childhood friend falling to the ground, hands against her face while her body mutates against her will. Link covers his mouth as the bile rises up his throat.

"Are you alright, Link?" Allen says.

Link tries to breath. When he succeeds, he closes the door and stares down at Allen Walker. "You know my name."

"Yes, of course I do. What brings you here? You are truly one of the last people I expected to see."

"Where's the Earl?" Link asks. "Where is the Order?"

"I thought you might ask that," Allen says. He almost smiles.

"Well? Answer me, Walker!" Involuntarily, Link raises a hand to his eyes. _Walker? Why did I call him Walker?_

Allen doesn't react to the name; it's as if he expected Link to call him that. "Everything's gone, as far as I can tell."

"And the people?"

"No one remembers anything," Allen says. He looks at Link, pale and feverish, and Link thinks he can see the shadow of the Fourteenth stirring within those tired eyes.

"No one?"

"Well, technically, Lenalee and Kanda do remember. But none of us have our weapons."

"Your hand –"

"Is just a deformed hand now."

Silence falls between them, stale and heavy like smoke in a poorly ventilated kitchen. There is so much Link wants to say, so many questions burning to leap from his tongue, so many mysteries to unravel. And yet something holds him back.

The silence grows, like thick fog crawling across the ground on a dark and terrible night, and Link feels it would be horribly wrong to even utter a word lest the attention of hiding Akuma be drawn to them – but, Link wonders, where do these thoughts come from? Do they hail from deep within his mind, in the hidden recesses where the past still lingers?

The light outside fades away, and the curtains of night thread through the firmament. The room is shrouded with shadows now, the ghosts of the past and future converging on them in this tiny space.

Link finally speaks. "We have to do something."

"We are doing something."

"What?"

"Lenalee and Kanda are searching for the Innocence cubes."

"Where? And how?"

"They –"

The door crashes open. Allen stiffens, and Link stands with his back to a wall. Now would be a good time to have some knives on his person… There are two figures at the door, mere shadows against the harsh light of the corridor lamp. Two ponytails in silhouette.

"Allen," the shorter one says, and walks into the room.

The taller one follows, closing the door and switching on the lights.

Allen startles like a beetle emerging from the tomb of deep sleep at the start of spring. "You – you got them? You found them?"

Link's gaze follows Allen's. The man with the long hair and a glare that could kill – his name is Kanda, Link remembers – has a large bag strapped to his back.

Lenalee says, "We found it."

"What's he doing here." Kanda jerks a thumb at Link.

"Never mind him," Allen says. "Show me."

Kanda unzips the large bag and pulls out a long sword. "Here."

"Mugen. Does it work?"

Kanda nods.

Lenalee smiles. "Mine work too." She turns her slim ankles, showing off the sides of her shiny black boots.

"The same ones?" Allen asks.

"The very same ones," Lenalee says. "I never thought I'd ever be so happy to see them again."

Allen's face grows sombre. "Was Hevlaska there?"

"She's still there, where we found her," Lenalee says. "We couldn't move her. There was no way… I'm sorry, Al."

Allen paces around the room. He touches the headboard of his bed, the window grilles, the tidy, dusty desk. "I'll need to see her to get Crowned Clown – but I can't leave. That's the problem."

"I'll get you out," Link says.

Silence again. This time, three pairs of eyes are on Link; he sees curiosity, doubt and a slow burning anger looking back at him.

"Leave it to me," Link says. Anything to break the awful silence.

"So, Link," Kanda says. He spits Link's name out, like something that belongs in the trash.

Link raises an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of long-dead Leverrier, who wasn't even granted the chance to be chased into the future.

"Why would you choose to help the Beansprout?" Kanda lopes towards Link with the kind of careless grace predators can only ever dream of.

"It is my duty," Link says stiffly.

Kanda, standing right in front of Link, unleashes the full power of his glare. "Don't you dare betray us."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good that we've got that settled," Kanda says menacingly.

"Really, Kanda," Lenalee says.

Kanda leaned against the wall, tucking Mugen under his arms. "Someone had to do it. You wouldn't, and the Beansprout's in no fit state to do it. Be grateful."

Lenalee sighs. "Kanda… you really haven't changed one bit."

"That might be for the best, actually," Link says. He joins Allen at the window. Outside, the sky is navy-dark, a cocoon for festering dreams and nightmares. "We don't know what we're up against."

Kanda decides that it's a good time to interrupt Link's reverie. "How are you going to get him out?"

Link crosses his arms. "Actually… I can do it now. It's not that hard. I have my badge with me. But we'll all go on the run once it happens. The Noahs will be on us as soon as they find out."

"We need to pack," Lenalee says breathlessly. "All the essentials –"

Link nods, glad of the girl's sensibility. "Everything." Then he says, "Can we leave tonight?"

"Yes," Kanda says. He doesn't have all that many possessions anyway, he's never been a hoarder of any stripe, thank goodness.

"Yes," Lenalee says, somewhat uncertainly.

"Just say goodnight to your brother," Kanda advises. "Don't tell him where we're headed."

"That would be good," Link says. "The fewer people who know the truth, the better. We don't need extra liabilities. We'll meet at D– station in three hours, alright? I drove, so we can take my car to the ruins."

* * *

Allen stretches, pulling his hands upwards till they reach above his head. It's been nine months since he woke up in the grey room, all alone, with grilles on his window and a locked door. And now, now – now, he is free, finally, and he can't quite believe it. He walks down the road with Link, away from the rundown eatery where they've just had dinner, and finds joy when his feet hit the asphalt.

_It's always the littlest things you take for granted, after all,_ he thinks.

The sweater Link bought at the little store down the road hangs off Allen's skeletal frame. But Allen thinks, it feels good to have a change of clothes – something above and beyond the shapeless hospital gowns.

The road is empty, at this hour, and the leaves rustle in the gentle, chilly breeze. There is food in his stomach (and it was delicious, not like the tasteless porridge they fed him back at the asylum). Overhead, stars glimmer.

"Get in the car, Walker," Link says.

Time holds no meaning for Allen until they reach D– station and rendezvous with Kanda and Lenalee.

The drive to the station is a stretch of night, broken only by the faltering light streaming from old street lamps. Allen looks out the window as Link drives; sleep doesn't beckon. Instead, he thinks of nothing and everything.

– _he is free, and he is chained; he is at peace, and he is at war. He is loved, and he is alone with the dead_ –

They pull onto an expressway; other cars line up alongside them, drive by them. Allen sees a kaleidoscope of colours, red and orange and yellow, fluorescent in the darkness.

The other motorists are all hurrying towards some distant places, all convinced that they need to reach a certain location by a certain time. Someone taps his horn, someone does not. Someone speeds, someone gives way. All normal people, going about their normal days, doing normal things.

– _he has an arm that transforms into a sword, and he has no arm at all; he opens a gate to an arid, god-forsaken town, where walls crumble and only ghosts walk, and the gate disappears, breaks, shatters into a million slivers of empty light _–

They pull into a carpark. Link kills the engine and winds down his window. He leans against the window frame, watching the night, while Allen looks inward again and again and again.

Finally, at the allotted time, a shadow detaches itself from all the shadows pooling around the place. The silhouette moves quickly, gliding down the street, and lands a knock on Allen's window. The dim yellow light of the nearby streetlamp dances like gold mist over Kanda's pale face. Link unlocks the back door; Kanda throws in two large backpacks before he slides in.

"What's that?" Link asks, eyeing the bags with suspicion.

"Where's Lenalee?" Allen asks.

"Supplies," Kanda says. And then he adds, "Lenalee didn't come with me."

"That looks like her." Link points out the window; there is movement near them, and soon, Lenalee materialises with a big duffel bag.

The bag makes a clunking sound with Lenalee tosses it onto the car floor.

"Did you bring kitchen utensils?" Kanda says disbelievingly.

Lenalee rolls her eyes. "Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. My camping equipment, to be precise. We'll need to eat, won't we? And we'll run out of money soon, so we can't keep buying takeaway. And we certainly can't get them to deliver the food."

"But we can –"

"We can what, Kanda? We might have our Innocence back, but that doesn't mean we now have other powers to rely on."

"She's right," Link says as he backs his car out of the lot. "Now let's go."

"Yes, let's," says Allen. He looks the happiest he's been for a very long time.

* * *

Bookman bolts upright, clutching at his forehead. His nails are sharp, for he has again forgotten to clip them, and now a tiny trickle of blood bubbles up against the folds of his wrinkled skin.

The dream replays in Bookman's head – a circle of light, pulsing in the night sky, and then tendrils of darkness darting down radial lines towards the centre of the circle; the woman with kohl-lined eyes thrusts her right wrist forward, the hands of the clock face she wears spinning at an unbelievable speed; a large man cries out, saying, _the noises are disappearing, I can't hear their voices_; and a disastrous shimmer, like a bolt of lightning on a clear night.

Then a rain of silver light, the fading fragments of lives ended too fast, too soon, crashing to the ground like the treacherous dance of waves against a silent, empty shore.

Lavi, Bookman thinks, Lavi has gone, disappeared, carried away by the wind and that strange light. There is no longer an apprentice, no more continuity, but at his age, he might not have the time to hunt down and train another –

Then the scene shifts, and Bookman sees a dark cave, running water trickling somewhere close by. The air here is foul, reeking of death and decay. Two men in white grin at them, and one laughs and sticks out his long, lizard-like tongue. Eyeballs on his tongue, words falling like sand and stone from that alien mouth, shadows lurking in the corners, and a hiss in Bookman's ears.

"Oh, God," Bookman says, opening his eyes.

He sees nothing but a messy room, sweaters on the back of the sofa; a half-eaten sandwich on the wooden coffee-table, a slice of tomato poking out from the mouldy bread; the television switched on, but muted, such that the news presenter seems to be miming words.

Bookman rubs the sleep from his eyes, downs a glass of water to wash the bitter taste of fear from his tongue. He is too old for this. He has seen far too many summers, endured too many winters.

_Could that be real?_

And, _what if it is real?_

To distract himself, Bookman sets about dusting the books in the glass cabinets lining the next room. He relies on logic to calm himself down.

First, those were dreams. They were nightmares, the terrifying brew born of an excess of exhaustion and insomnia. Second, monsters do not exist in the scientific, progressive world of the twenty-first century. Third, he is a historian, a keeper of ancient lore, and surely he would have come across such a war in his researches?

Then Bookman gasps.

There was once a series of scrolls, detailing a secret war between good and evil. Bookman had read them once, and deemed them fictional, and now the scrolls are hidden somewhere in his dusty basement. Is there time to dig them out?

Then he knows: the dream is real, and he lived it once. He fought the Akuma once, with sharp needles, and he watched the world go down in ash and fire. Bookman sets down his glass as the kitchen wobbles in and out of his vision, as the fear constricts his throat, as his joints ache to think of leaping and running after monsters.

But Lavi – where is Lavi? For if the dream is real, so is the danger, and Bookman knows at once, with the wisdom of years, that their best hope is to find Allen and wait by his side until the Millennium Earl makes his next move.

Lavi, Lavi first. Lavi has to be found, and then they will leave.

* * *

**AN (12.09.16): **Writing in the present tense can be so tiring... I think I managed to weed out all the tense errors - but if you see any, please do not hesitate to point them out.

Thanks for taking the time to read this, I hope you enjoyed this.


	6. Chapter 6

Link drives them north for three hours. Where they're going, the lanes are dark and quiet; they pass fields drenched in shadows and sleeping woods, and meet few other cars along the way. Finally, Link parks in a deserted carpark.

Link retrieves a bicycle from the car boot. "We should bring this with us."

Lenalee looks doubtfully at the bicycle, and then at Link's large backpack. "Can you manage?"

"Of course," Link says indignantly. "I carry my bicycle with me all the time."

Allen glances back at the silent, dark car. "What about your car?"

"We'll have to leave it here," Link says. _We have no choice. For better or for worse, we have to abandon the car_. "I'll bring the keys in case we ever need a quick getaway. But I think we should stick to the bicycle most days if we go out to run errands and get food. It's less noticeable."

Kanda straps a camping headlamp around his forehead. When he switches it on, the space around him lights up with a harsh light, and the darkness recedes. "Come on," he says, and goes first.

Lenalee and Allen follow Kanda. Link takes up the rear, and so they walk on into the living, breathing darkness where Hevlaska, tethered to the past and rooted in rock, waits.

* * *

Lavi saunters through the front door as the grandfather clock in the hall strikes eleven. The clock is a beautiful thing, carved from the wood of a tree long dead, the burnished pendulum keeping the hour perfectly.

"I'm home, Gramps," Lavi calls, in case the old man is still awake. He likes to be informed of Lavi's comings and goings, and so Lavi obliges him.

"Get in here, idiot!"

_So the old man's angry_. _Have I done something wrong_? Rack his brain as he might, Lavi can't come up with any possible reason for Bookman's inexplicable anger.

Sighing at his predicament, because he would really like to dive into bed right now and forget the cares of daily life, Lavi pushes open the folding door and strides into Bookman's study. He pauses when he sees the large suitcase lying open beside the mahogany cabinet where Bookman keeps many of the items he prizes the most.

Atop the mantelpiece, there stands a miniature painting, of a fat man and a young boy. The artist clearly liked the colours red and black and white, for they dominate the painting. Splashes of red, blossoming like swirls of blood; night overhead, and no stars in the sky; the pure, blinding white of the boy's coat and sword…

For the first time ever, Lavi witnesses Bookman lifting the painting off the mantelpiece. When Lavi was young, Bookman told him, _don't you ever dare touch anything up here_. Back then, Lavi was too short to reach the mantelpiece. When he finally grew tall enough, he no longer felt the urge to touch any of the curios lining the shelf.

"What are you doing?" Lavi asks.

"Where have you been, boy?" Bookman says, examining the painting and blowing years of dust off its edges.

"Out."

"Where?"

"I've been out with friends. Is something wrong?" Because Lavi feels in his bones that something's gone terribly wrong.

Bookman swivels his head so fast Lavi nearly trips over the carton of old books and scrolls behind him. "We're leaving."

"Whoa," Lavi says. "Leaving now? Why? And where are we going?"

"Emergency," Bookman says, ignoring the last question. "Pack your things. Bring only what's necessary."

Lavi points at the cartons of books and scrolls and the luggage which contains strange equipment and more books. "You're bringing more than what's necessary, Gramps."

"I'm bringing what I need. Pack a fortnight's worth of clothes. And get some food for us too. I've put a luggage bag in your room, use that. Be ready in an hour."

Lavi lingers at the door. "Shouldn't you at least explain why we're leaving on such quick notice?"

"I'll explain in the car," Bookman says, and resumes his packing. "Go on, now."

* * *

Devit hunches over his laptop, playing a game. It's nearly midnight, and he's getting sleepy. He'll kill just a few more zombies, and then he'll head to bed, and –

_Ring ring_. _Ring ring_.

Devit contemplates not answering the telephone. Would it matter, really, in the grand scheme of things? Because, he really wants to go to bed –

_Ring ring_. _Ring ring_.

The telephone continues to ring with a stubborn intensity. Quite aware that no good ever comes from taking a call at midnight, especially ones that refuses to stop ringing, Devit reaches for the receiver. A strange sense of dread settles over him.

"Hello? Noah Manor," he says.

Heavy breathing. Devit contemplates slamming the receiver down. Then, someone finally speaks, voice hoarse and fearful. "We have a big problem here, sir."

Devit sits upright. _Yep, I should never have answered the phone_. "What's wrong?"

More heavy breathing. "Trouble! At the Institute!"

"Calm down, I don't know what you're talking about. And who the hell are you anyway?"

"I'm the head night nurse at the Katerina Campbell Psychiatric Institute!"

"And?"

"He's gone!" she wails.

The air suddenly feels solid; Devit feels woozy. "Say what?"

This time, a sob. "He's gone! We just found out when we checked on his room."

"How do you people do your fucking job!"

"I'm so, so sorry, really we –"

"You're in deep shit." And, as an afterthought, Devit adds, "Get your people to search the hospital and the grounds."

"We're already on it, sir, but there's no sign of it so far –"

"I'll let the boss know." Devit does slam the phone down in the end. He finds that he's shaking, and his fingers are trembling. He has to tell someone. Anyone. He doesn't want to wake the Earl alone, or deliver the devastating news alone. Not alone, no, definitely not alone.

The first room Devit reaches is Tyki's. To wake him or not to wake him? Devit rather dreads the thought of walking in on Tyki and one of his many female _friends_. But the Earl… With a sigh, Devit knocks.

Tyki answers, fully dressed. "Why are you waking me at this hour?" he grumbles.

"You weren't even asleep."

"I might have been," says Tyki. "Is this a prank or what? Is Jasdero going to spray me with water or drop something on my head?"

"No," Devit says shortly. He can't bring himself to say the words.

Tyki frowns. Devit is pale, and shaking, and very much out of sorts. "Is something wrong?"

"The hospital called," Devit says. The fear rises in his heart, and little needlepoints of anxiety prickle all over his skin.

"And?"

"He's gone. Escaped."

They stare at each other, in the silent, dim corridor. Tyki begins to sweat. He remembers Joyd's pain, his pain, the Noah's pain, the pain that arose when a white-hot sword flew through him, binding him, pure holiness attempting to slay the monster within. His heart beats faster, and all sounds grow distant.

"Tyki? Tyki?" Devit waves his fingers before Tyki's face.

"Stop that, idiot," Tyki says, brushing his brother away irritably.

"We have to tell the Earl, remember?"

They set off down the corridor. As they pass Rhode's door, Tyki slows down. "I think we should get Rhode too."

"Yeah, yeah, she's good at calming the Earl."

Rhode responds to the knock on her door with alacrity. "What are you guys doing here?" she asks, when she swings the door open.

Devit shuffles his feet. Tyki sighs, and says, "The boy escaped. We have to tell the Earl."

Rhode tilts her head to the side like a curious bird. "Escaped? Allen?"

"Who else?" Tyki says.

Rhode says cheerfully, "This will be fun! I can't wait to chase him down."

"It will not be fun," Devit says petulantly, sliding his hands into his pockets, where he is no doubt rubbing his nails into pieces, and possibly thinking of the months he wasted chasing down Cross Marian years ago. "The Earl is going to shout and cry."

"I'll calm him down," Rhode says softly, watching the unease bloom over her siblings' faces. "That's why you fetched me, isn't it? To comfort him."

Tyki ruffles Rhode's hair. "You're a bright one, aren't you."

"Then let's go." Rhode skips down the hallway, humming to herself, her dress swishing out around her.

* * *

Somewhere in the labyrinth of darkness, they come across a splinter of light. It beckons, the light at the end of the tunnel, the answer to their myriad questions.

Allen turns back to the others. "She's there, isn't she?"

"Yes," Lenalee says. "We're very near now."

They press forward, boots squelching against the trickling water, unheeding of the darkness around them.

There is a deep yearning in Allen's heart, a yearning that knows nothing of time and space. He feels the wind in his hair, the thrill of the fight, and sees the pain of chained souls, and longs to set them free. There is a yearning in his arm, the ghost of the past sinking its claws into him, the knowledge of an abyss in his life.

Finally, they step into the cavern. Bright light envelopes them all, and for a moment it seems to Allen that he walks in a strange country, a country of light and weightlessness. Then he sees Hevlaska, shining with a holy light, and she reaches out to him, and he lets her.

"You are back, Allen Walker, Destroyer of Time," Hevlaska says. Her voice booms across the chamber, resonant and clear, and yet musical, like old church bells ringing the hour.

"I'm back to continue the fight, Hevlaska."

"Are you ready?"

"When I have ever not been ready?"

Hevlaska laughs. "That is true. This is a great commitment you take up again, Allen Walker. The Order failed you once, and it is likely to do so again. Will you bear the burden again, in spite of how we have treated you?"

"I know. And my answer is yes."

"Will you still join with your Innocence, then?"

"I came," Allen says simply.

Hevlaska nods and pulls out a green cube. It floats before Allen's face, shimmering and vibrating, and once again a deep yearning seizes Allen.

"Let me measure your accommodation level first," Hevlaska says gently. "Just in case."

"There is no need," Allen says, reaching for the humming Innocence.

The cube is warm against his palms. "I'm back. I'm sorry I took so long," Allen says.

The Innocence quivers, like a little bird, and Allen brings his hands to his face. "We'll finish the Earl for good this time, and save the world. You and I, together. Please give me the chance to finish what we started centuries ago. To save the world, and the Akuma souls, even if I must die. Please, Innocence. To this end we must go."

Black liquid in his arms, spreading across his fingers, the nod of a distant god. In the bright fog, Allen hears the roar of the wind, and the blare of a trumpet, as if declaring the new start of their cleansing war.

Allen tilts his palms and allows the liquid Innocence to flow down his throat.

"So it is, so it shall be," Hevlaska says. In her voice, deep and mellow with the wisdom of years, Allen hears the promise of the heavens: _behold, my child, you have returned; fear not, for I have redeemed you; __I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you._

_Thank you_, he thinks, as pain flares throughout his body.

He is on fire, and his feet are pierced with ice; his throat burns and his lungs constrict and his heart gives a treacherous leap. There is lead weighing down his fingers and gravity grasps at his legs; his left hand shrivels up into a desiccated claw. Invisible knives slash across the scarred flesh, the pain of a thousand lives of misery, the pain of the lamb brought to the block for slaughter, a holy sacrifice bleeding into the sacred ground.

Blood spurts – he falls – a green star awakens in the centre of the cavern.

The feathery Innocence stands before him, its roots in the blood on the ground. Allen smiles and touches it, as he has seen Lenalee do once before, a very, very long time ago.

"It's been a long time, Crowned Clown," Allen says, and the Innocence dips its head – if a head it could be called – the green star shatters as Allen and Crowned Clown become one again.

"Welcome back," Hevlaska says.

The fog fades, and in the background stand Kanda, Lenalee and Link, all looking at Allen. Lenalee's teary face betrays her trepidation, and in Link's eyes there is something close to respect. Kanda's face is blank, but he nods once to Allen.

"Welcome back, everyone," Allen says, and he smiles through a mist of tears. "We are finally home."

* * *

Bookman steers the car down the empty lane.

In the back, leg pressed against a box of dusty books, Lavi sighs and says, "Gramps, aren't you gonna explain what's happening?"

"Shut up, boy, can't you see I'm driving?"

Lavi rolls his eyes. "You can talk and drive at the same time, Gramps. You've done it before."

"Today's not like any other day, you foolish boy."

"What's so different?" Lavi says. He tries to move his foot, which is starting to feel numb, but succeeds only in hitting his knee against a different box. A third box is pressing into his ribs, and it hurts, and Lavi wishes he knew where they are going. "You said you'd tell me in the car."

"I will, but not now."

"Why not?"

"Let me drive in peace, boy."

"This is tiring. When are we going to stop for the night?"

"We aren't going to stop for now," Bookman says.

"We're not? Oh, Gramps, don't you need to sleep?"

"We have urgent matters to see to."

"What matters?"

"Stop asking, I –"

Bookman stops in the middle of his sentence; in the distance, light explodes over the horizon, the silent scream of destiny fulfilled.

"Woah," Lavi says, leaning forward. "Woah."

Bookman continues to stare as the light fades away like the remnants of a dream, dancing in swirls that trail away into the curtain of night.

The car swerves a little to the left, cutting into the next lane. They are dangerously close to driving off the road. Bookman takes control of the wheel again and deftly guides their vehicle back in line.

"What was that?" Lavi whispers. The light still burns bright when he closes his eyes. "An explosion?"

Bookman sighs. "That was a sign."

"Sorry?"

Bookman doesn't answer. Minutes later, he pulls up in front of a shabby motel and parks neatly between two old grey cars. "Let's stop for the night."

"I thought you said it was urgent?"

"Not anymore," Bookman says. "Now it can wait. Get your stuff, boy."

Lavi ambles after Bookman, grasping his bag tight to his chest. The dark motel looms overhead, a few spots of light shining out through windows which were grubby with neglect and the dust of years. Weeds have sprouted up around the compound, and thick moss creeps up the walls; when Lavi nudges at the door, peeling brown paint comes off in his fingers.

"Urgh," Lavi says.

Bookman looks over with a frown. "It's only for a night."

"I know, I know…"

"Where we're going… boy, you should know. Conditions might be worse."

"Worse how?"

"I don't know," Bookman admits. "But worse."

They check in at a dusty counter with one cracked bulb shining overhead and are handed a set of old, weird-smelling keys.

When they finally let themselves into a dank chamber, reeking of mothballs, Lavi locks the door and looks at Bookman. "Old man, will you tell me what this is all about now?"

Bookman sighs. "Yes. Do sit down. It's a long story…"

Outside, lightning flashes and thunder roars as the night wears on, as Bookman spins his tale.

* * *

The Earl sits up, clutching at his chest. His heart is throbbing, throbbing, _throbbing_, heaving against his ribs, straining against his bones. Something has gone very, very wrong. In the darkness, the lone candle snuffs out, and a face rises unbidden in the current of his thoughts.

Bright eyes, sharp cheekbones, wavy hair that curls across fine ears, dancing across a gentle forehead. A friendly grin, an outstretched arm, and then a fire that sears across his vision, turning the world ash-grey and anguished.

Betrayal. That's the word for the pain that burrows through his veins, building as it tunnels along, exploding into a confounding anger in his head. That's the word for the twelve bodies he once found scattered within a sprawling mansion, their blood staining the ground a hideous empty-red. That's the word for the anger and resentment, the _disgust_ in his beloved brother's crazed eyes, the snake that spits at him from Neah's beloved face.

_Afterwards, the snow fell for days, blanketing the towns and hamlets, as the Fourteenth lay dying. He buried Neah under a mound of earth and sealed his body in the barrow with a handful of binding spells. A sad sort of ending for the brother who shared his blood, but betrayal brooked no other ending at that time. _

And now – now, what is this feeling that chokes the Earl, this heady desperation that spins the room, this abyss within him that roars with all the strength of an angry sea?

Surely – it can't be – only once has he ever –

_Crash._

The Earl swears and leaps out of bed at the same time. The covers are flung back, but the end of the quilt curls around his left leg, and he hits his shin against the sharp edge of the bedside table.

"Heavens above!" He falls with a cry.

In the shifting darkness, a little shape flits to him, hoisting him up with soft hands and careful words. Then light fills the room; the electric lamp at the far table blinks into life, spreading a warm orange glow about them all.

First the Earl sees Rhode, her hands against his arm, and then Tyki, leaning against the writing desk, and finally Devit, shrouded in the doorway, skulking like an angry teenager.

"You're crying, Master Millennium," Rhode murmurs, as she helps the Earl back into bed.

"Here," Tyki says, brandishing a handkerchief.

"What happened to you?" asks Devit.

The Earl looks up at them, his faithful followers all, and a deep dread sinks down into his stomach. "He's done something, hasn't he? Or has Apocryphos caught up with him now?"

"Not Apocryphos," Tyki says grimly.

Devit steps forward. He looks skinnier than usual in the backlight flooding in from the open door. "The hospital called, Earl. Allen Walker escaped this evening."

The Earl placed a hand above his chest. "This evening!"

"Hush, Master Millennium," Rhode says soothingly.

"How many hours ago?" the Earl croaks. "There must be a mistake… It can't be!"

"The staff are not sure," Devit says. "They're searching the grounds now."

"That won't help!" the Earl says. He buries his face in his hands, and his shoulders heave with unrestrained grief. "This is the end, the end! A curse on all the world! Damn you, Neah! See where you have brought us, with your strange ideas and your damnable betrayal. Damn you, Neah! Damn you, Neah!"

"So it begins again," Rhode says, holding the Earl in her arms. She looks up at Tyki and Devit, and smiles. "It has been so long."

The Earl continues to moan, rocking back and forth in Rhode's embrace. He cries and shouts in turn, reusing both counsel and comfort, muttering Neah's name through snatches of lucidity. Tyki and Devit glance at each other, each shrugging when their eyes meet. They know this routine, for they watched the Earl wallow in misery over a century ago, when Allen Walker first awoke as the Pianist.

At last – it feels like _hours_ – the Earl dries his tears and looks over at the three Noah waiting on him.

"This is war," the Earl declares. "We have to hunt him down."

* * *

**AN (01.10.16):** The "promise" Allen hears from the heavens after synchronising is quoted verbatim from Isaiah 43:1-3.

Thanks for reading! As always, please feel free to point out any mistakes.


	7. Chapter 7

As the lightning rushes from heaven to earth in the creeping darkness outside, Bookman and Lavi sit in the light pooling out from the lone lamp. In the harsh electric light, Bookman looks old and tired, a warrior gone to waste in his dotage. His cheeks sag where once they lifted in mysterious smiles, and his eyes are heavy with grief and worry where once they were bright as they chased words across paper and people across seas.

"Tell me, Gramps," Lavi says.

Bookman leans against the headboard. "I am going to tell you the truth, Lavi. And you will find it ridiculous. You will wonder if I have gone insane."

"No, I won't."

"You will. This tale is so ludicrous… I do not know where to start."

"Why don't you tell me where we're going?"

"We are going to look for your friends."

"Eh?" Lavi laughs, a sound of gentle mockery for what he assumes to be a poor attempt at humour.

"Allen Walker, Lenalee Lee, Kanda Yu," says Bookman. "Especially Allen Walker."

"Why are we looking for them? They're way back in town, y'know, so we're going the wrong way if—"

"They are _not_ there," Bookman says impatiently. "They left earlier today on urgent business."

"The same business?"

"The very same."

"How do you know? You barely talk to them when they visit."

"I have my ways, boy."

Lavi scratches his head and looks sideways at Bookman. "I don't understand."

Bookman wets his chapped lips. "There are things called Akuma. They are dangerous, very dangerous. They are essentially souls called back from the afterlife, and chained to an artificial body made of a strange metallic substance. A long time ago, you and I worked for an organisation which acted to destroy these monsters."

Bookman continues, "The ones who created these monsters… they call themselves Noahs. The head of that family is the Earl of Millennium. It was the Earl who wrecked our memories and sent us into the future. The world has begun to change; little by little the evil is awakening. We are now seeking your friend Allen Walker, for he is the prophesised Destroyer of Time."

Lavi leans a cheek against his hand. "Yeah, Gramps, you lost me at Akuma. The hell? Don't play such tricks on me. Just tell me the truth, won't you? Did you lose money gambling or something? Are we running from creditors? Because, y'know, you can tell me the truth. No need to spin such a tall tale…"

Bookman raps Lavi on the head with his bare knuckles. "You idiot!"

Lavi rubs his head. "Seriously."

"I wasn't spinning a yarn, young man!"

Lavi frowns and leans away. "Alright, Gramps, I'm tired. Can we just talk about this tomorrow? Maybe you'll feel like telling me the truth tomorrow after some sleep."

Aggravated, Bookman snarls. "Listen to me, boy, you—"

Lavi slips away to his bed and slides under the damp covers. "Night."

Bookman looks sadly at Lavi, whose face is turned away from his, away from the harsh light. He wonders how to convince the boy about the ancient war, and can find no answer.

* * *

It's night, and outside a storm rages, but deep down in the safe, warm embrace of the catacombs, Allen smiles and looks at his arm.

"What now?" Kanda says. "You're being creepy, stupid Beansprout."

"Now we fight," Allen says, still beaming beatifically, like a saint walking to resigned martyrdom. "And I'm not being creepy."

Kanda stands, stretches, and walks towards the shadows lining the cavern. "Says you."

"Boys," Lenalee says as she rummages through her bag. "Don't fight, alright? And Allen, where do we start?"

"Don't you need to recruit the others?" Link says.

"That's a bad idea," Allen says. "They'll just catch me and throw me back into the institution again."

"The three of you can't fight the Earl alone," Link says, crossing his arms.

Allen looks over at Link. "You make four of us."

"Hevlaska makes us five," Lenalee adds.

Link sighs. His face is grey in the wavering light. "I'm not an exorcist. I don't fight Akuma."

"He is right," Hevlaska says, her voice the gentle rumble of a leisurely giant. "You will need to find the others. The Innocence cubes are calling out within me."

"Is it possible," Lenalee asks, "that they are all starting to remember the past? Lavi, Bookman, Miranda, Krory, Timothy? And the Generals?"

"I do not know," Hevlaska says. "But one in particular is starting to pull on me."

"How do you know?" Lenalee asks.

"Because his Innocence resounds within me, calling out through space and time for its accommodator."

Link walks over to Hevlaska. "Who are you talking about?"

"Bookman," Hevlaska says.

"That means the idiot Lavi will be coming too," Kanda says.

"That's great!" Allen says. "We _need_ Lavi too."

"The young Bookman has not regained his memories," Hevlaska says. "His Innocence is silent and still in deep slumber within me."

Lenalee nods to herself. "So Lavi may not come with Bookman. That would be really strange…"

"I think he will come," Link says. "You must remember the old man's strength of will. Lavi will come, if unwillingly."

"Then he should not come at all," Kanda says from somewhere in the shadows.

* * *

The next day, Bookman tries again. Lavi isn't sullen, thank goodness, and cheerfully makes his way down to the dining hall.

They breakfast well. The motel might be in poor shape, but they have a good cook. Bookman stirs his coffee, _no sugar or milk, thank you_, and plunges headfirst into the current.

"Have you ever wondered about your eye?" he says.

Lavi looks up, bacon oil gleaming on his lips. He swallows a forkful of egg, and says, "Yeah. But you told me I injured it and decided to wear a patch to conceal the frightful sight. Isn't that it?"

"You did injure it," Bookman says. The coffee is bitter in his mouth, the taste of ashes falling from an incarnadine sky. "But it was no accident."

"Eh?" Lavi says. "I don't remember a thing about it."

"Of course you don't. You were so young then. It was I who took your eye."

Lavi's fork hovers around his mouth. Three seconds wink past as Lavi processes Bookman's words, and then he straightens his shoulders and sits up, mouth wide open in confusion. "You what?"

"It was part of your induction into the Bookman clan. We took your eye in exchange; it was payment for the abilities you gained."

Lavi shrugs and leans away from Bookman; there is more than a little anger in his stance. "Gramps, I told you last night, don't treat me like a child. I don't know why you're doing this. Just give me a straight answer, won't you?"

Bookman shakes his head sadly. "I'm giving you the truth."

Lavi slams a hand into the table; bits of egg and tomato land on the tablecloth. "Look—"

Bookman reaches out and tugs on Lavi's shoulder. "Do you trust me, Lavi?"

Lavi looks into Bookman's eyes through the lens of anger. The dam has collapsed within him.

Bookman then lays his other hand on Lavi's shoulder. "Lavi, you're my grandson." The lie stings his tongue with all the venom of deceit and mockery, but he presses on. "I only want the best for you."

"Then why do you—"

"I know you think I'm making fun of you. I swear that I'm not. Can you accept that at least?"

Lavi stares up into the older man's face. Beyond the wrinkles and age spots, Bookman's eyes are clear and calm, and nearly as bright as any youth's. Lavi nods.

"Good," Bookman says. "And I will give you the proof you desire. We shall look at the matter scientifically, logically, with our brains and not with our emotions."

Lavi nods again.

"But we have to go off first," Bookman says. "I don't want unfriendly people catching up with us. We will find Allen Walker, and then I will make everything clear to you."

"You'd better, Gramps." Lavi returns to his breakfast.

"I will." Bookman looks at Lavi, now bent over and intent on his food, looks at the red hair and the bandana and the strong shoulders, and thinks back to the past. Once they were historians, lore-masters, and strong fighters waging war against the dark and malignant, and yet—now, how they have fallen!

_I pray that Lavi's memories return soon_, Bookman thinks. _And everyone else's. If not_—_if not_—_I shudder to think about what the Earl might achieve this time._

* * *

In Hamburg, a group of children in too-large jackets and too-loose trousers knock over potted plants and pedestrians as they follow a woman stumbling along the pavement.

"Stop following me!" she shouts over her shoulders as wisps of hair fall into her eyes. She runs a hand miserably across her face, but the hairs trail into her eyes again.

"Miranda, Miranda, poor, poor Miranda," the children chant, still on her tail.

"Go away!" Miranda shouts. "Leave me alone!"

She runs across the road just as the light turns red; cars honk and a motorcyclist nearly knocks her down. But in the end she arrives safely at the other side, and leaves the odious children behind at the intersection where they content themselves with blowing raspberries at her back.

Miranda hates this life.

The long stretches of unemployment, the chronic laying off from her jobs, the grey sky, the loneliness. Some nights, she looks out from her old flat, at the crescent moon yawning above and the twinkling stars, and wonders how a person could be so alone in the twenty-first century.

There is something missing in her life. She has always felt the stinging cut of that aperture—always wishing for something more than just a job, always yearning for something more than what she has been given.

And now, there are dreams. On her twenty-eighth birthday she wakes in cold sweat, feeling all _wrong_—the bed feels too big and too empty for just one person. The night too cold, the darkness too empty.

She can't help but feel that there should have been a strong arm holding her close, there should have been someone lying by her side, sharing her warmth: someone tall, someone bald, someone whose deep voice calms her when the panic strikes. She can't see his face, can't place his name, but his touch and voice linger in her memory.

There are others too—friends—a boy with white hair, a kind smile and a deformed arm; a girl with pigtails and a gentle heart; another boy with an eyepatch and flaming hair—but who are they? Their faces are a blur in her mind, like forgotten characters out of a television show enjoyed in childhood.

Besides, (_poor sad unlucky_) Miranda doesn't have friends.

"I'm going crazy," she says, and laughs aloud in her empty, lonely flat.

* * *

"There is—something," Hevlaska says, straining against her bonds. Something binds her to the spot; she can take no more than a couple of steps in each direction. It has been so long now since she last saw the sun—centuries of entombment, of despair, of waiting.

"What?" Kanda says, reaching for Mugen.

"Not that," Hevlaska says. "Someone else."

Allen stirs and sits up. "Who?"

"I cannot tell," Hevlaska says. "It is too early. But it is someone else—not Bookman."

"The old man already remembers," Kanda says. "Of course it isn't him."

Lenalee hits Kanda on the arm. "Can't you be more polite, honestly?"

"No."

"You're a pain in the ass, BaKanda," Allen says. "Really."

"I'll teach you pain in the ass—"

"Stop it," Lenalee says, ever the peace-maker. "Let's have something to eat. Hungry stomachs make people grumpy."

"A good idea," Link says, pulling out the portable stove. "I'll help you."

"You two, get over here too," Lenalee says. "Or you won't have any dinner tonight."

According, dinner is prepared and served, and the four of them tuck into steaming ramen.

"I love the taste of this," Allen says, slurping the noodles.

"Shut up Beansprout, you're fucking disgusting," Kanda says.

"Why do you always have a stick up your—"

Kanda slams his chopsticks against his bowl. "Shut up!"

Link and Lenalee stop eating.

Lenalee ventures to speak. "Kanda?"

Kanda presses a finger to his lips. "Keep quiet, all of you. Someone's coming."

At once, a dome of silence falls over them. Kanda and Allen walk silently to the entrance, where they stand and listen and wait. Both activate their Innocence.

It seems like an eternity. The voices come closer—there are at least two people nearby—indistinct and muffled, the words criss-crossing, the sentences interrupted and stark, echoes of questionable intent in the gloomy darkness. Whether the newcomers are friend or foe, they do not know yet.

"You go, BaKanda," Allen whispers.

"You little punk—"

"You can see quite well in the dark, can't you?"

"Allen's right," Lenalee says, standing by Allen's side. Her Dark Boots are activated as well; sleek wings protrude from the boots, fluttering in the still air. "We'll be right behind you."

When the voices come close enough, and one of the newcomers swears as he trips over a large stone they placed in the corridor for that exact purpose, Kanda darts into the darkness outside.

"Show yourself!" Kanda says.

"Argh!"

"It's me!"

"Bookman?" Kanda says.

"Bookman?" Allen says, and steps out beside Kanda. He switches on a torch and shines it before him.

"Argh my eye!" Lavi says, covering his eye.

Bookman shields his eyes, not looking particularly happy. "It's us."

"Come in then," Link says, lingering by the entrance.

Bookman enters and nods in greeting to Hevlaska, who smiles and grows more radiant.

"Who's that?" Lavi says, gaping at the glowing Hevlaska and her column of light. He rubs his eyes and stares, and then rubs his eyes again.

Bookman joins them in their circle around the stove and motions for Lavi to do the same. "Come here, boy, and stop staring. It's rude. I'll explain later."

Lenalee's hand hovers on the switch of the portable stove. "Do you want some food? I could boil more ramen…"

"We ate before we came," Bookman says.

"So, why are you here?" Link asks, and then continues with the business of eating.

"I should be the one asking you that," Bookman says.

Lenalee pours boiling water and instant coffee into two unused mugs. "We know why Link's here, Bookman."

Kanda leans back, dark eyes intensely scrutinising Bookman and Lavi; his hand hasn't left Mugen's hilt. He waits in the periphery, like a predator ready to leap. "You two should be the ones telling us why you're trespassing."

"This isn't your property, Kanda," Bookman says, accepting the proffered coffee mug. "You haven't changed, have you, boy?"

"Don't call me that, old man," Kanda says, not relaxing. He lays Mugen before him, letting its blade glitter in the dancing light.

"It's a pity, then, that a century and more hasn't taught you better manners," Bookman retorts.

Kanda glares at the older man, but lays Mugen to the side and returns to his dinner. He shoves the ramen into his mouth far quicker than necessary, with the sort of unbridled fury he used to display when bringing down hordes of Akuma.

"So it's true," Allen says. "You do remember."

Hevlaska laughs. "Did you doubt me, Allen Walker?"

"It's good to know for sure," Link says brusquely. "Now I suppose we can get on with it, since Bookman isn't eating."

"Get on with what?" Lavi says, strangely pale and quiet.

"He still doesn't know?" Kanda asks.

"He doesn't," Bookman says gravely. "Unfortunate as it is… I had to bring him along."

Lavi grasps his mug between his hands; he hasn't touched the coffee at all. "What are you hiding from me? Are you trafficking something?"

"Trafficking?" Lenalee says. She laughs, a gentle tinkle in the silent night. "Of course not!"

"He shall see, presently," Link says, and looks at Hevlaska. "For now…"

"If you are ready, Bookman," Hevlaska says, "then I am too. It is waiting for you."

"Who's waiting?" Lavi says, fear palpable in his voice. He sets his mug on the ground and looks up at them.

Bookman gets up. "You'll see, boy, and then you'll believe what I'll tell you later. For now... there's no time like the present."

Bookman presents himself before Hevlaska. "I'm ready," he says. He doesn't tremble, doesn't show any sort of fear.

Hevlaska sighs, a tiny sigh, and reaches out with her tentacles. A veil of green light envelopes Hevlaska and Bookman, and all the world stands still as Heavenly Compass comes face to face with its accommodator.

And then—fog—the hand of the unknown creeping across the ground, hiding from plain sight the miraculous process.

Lavi stares, his good eye open and eyebrow arched high. "Fuck," he says. "This isn't real."

"It is real, idiot," Kanda says. He watches Lavi carefully, in case the younger Bookman should take it into his deluded head to try to escape.

"Fuck," Lavi says again, this time softly. "Is he going to die? What are you guys doing here? Did you start a cult or something? What happened to my friends?"

Kanda decides to offer a piece of advice to the babbling Lavi. "Just shut up. You're noisy."

"But! Fuck—look at that! Someone please explain to me—"

"Bookman said he'd explain later, didn't he?" Link says. "So wait for him to explain."

"Yeah, but he's gonna die—I don't know what you lot are playing at—get him out of there, won't you?"

"No can do," Kanda says.

"Lavi," Allen says, laying a placating palm on Lavi's shoulder.

But Lavi jerks away from Allen's touch, as if afraid. "Don't touch me, Allen. You're up to something, aren't you? You were supposed to be in the institution! And somehow you manipulated everyone—_I'm_ not going to fall like the rest of you!"

"That's harsh, Lavi." Lenalee purses her lips as she stares at the redhead.

"He's not right in the head," Kanda declares.

Lavi rounds on Kanda. "And since when did you side with Allen?"

Kanda shrugs. "I'm not on his side. I'm on the side that wants to win the war and live."

"Oh the war," Lavi says, wringing his fingers. "Shut up about this bloody secret war! I don't believe a word of it!"

"He thinks we're lying to him," Link says. "Well, it's hardly my business, I suppose."

Lenalee raises her shocked eyes to Link; there are tears gathering above the fold of her eyelids. "I hate this."

Link starts to say something, but the green fog dissipates, dissolving into air and water vapour. Bookman and Hevlaska appear again.

"Did you get it?" Allen asks.

Bookman holds up a handful of needles in triumph.

"See, Lavi," Bookman says, as everyone but Lavi crowds around him, "I have not been lying to you."

"This is a _cult_," Lavi insists. "All smoke and mirrors."

"You should know better than that," Bookman says sadly.

"I'm going to bed," Lavi says shortly, spinning on his heel.

"Where?" Kanda says.

"We don't have a bedroom here," Lenalee says.

Bookman points at his luggage. "I brought extra sleeping bags."

Lavi pulls one of the said sleeping bags to a far corner of the cavern and lays it there. He slides inside, zipping himself up, and turns his back to them. Bookman just stares.

"He'll come round," Link says at last. "It's just a matter of time, until the memories return."

"I know," Bookman says, but he doesn't quite sound so sure.

* * *

"So, the plan," Lulu Bell says, sipping her morning coffee, "tell us about the plan."

No one answers her; breakfast, after all, is a busy time for every member of the Noah family. There is food to eat, coffee to swallow, insults to trade, and homework to be done at the very last minute.

Lulu Bell sighs. "Sheril. Are you ignoring me?"

Sheril looks up from the news dailies spread out in front of him. "Yes, Lulu? Did you say something?"

Lulu Bell looks ready to breathe fire. "The plan?"

"What about it?"

"I asked you to explain it to us."

Rhode draws a stick figure on the wooden face of the table. It's a figure of a boy, with a shock of untidy hair, and a pentacle scar that runs down his face. She draws sharp-tipped candles flying straight at him. "He doesn't have a plan."

As Tyki turns to look at Rhode, a dribble of bacon fat lands on his chin. "What, my almighty brother is behind on something this time? Unbelievable!"

"Unbelievable!" Jasdero choruses, smearing butter across the tablecloth.

An angry red splotch appears on each of Sheril's cheeks. "Shut up, Tyki. And stop that, Jasdero. Don't play with your food."

"I agree with Tyki for once," Lulu Bell says lazily, setting her coffee cup back on the table with a gentle _clink_.

"Unbelievable!" Jasdero says in a sing-song voice.

Lulu Bell snatches the butter knife and the butter platter. "Seriously, grow up, Jasdero. We are _not_ going to replace the tablecloth _again_. It's been barely a week!"

"I've been busy, _okay_," Sheril says, laying the newspapers aside.

Lulu Bell rolls her eyes. "With the boring human wars."

Sheril reaches for the coffeepot. "Yes, exactly."

"Which are _oh so important_," Lulu Bell says.

"They are, I'll have you know—"

Lulu Bell holds up a hand. "So what's the plan?"

"I don't have one yet!" Sheril's shoulders sag; the years have not been easy on him, and now he wears his age on his face.

"Well, think of one," Tyki says. "You're the brainy one."

Rhode reaches for a stack of papers and passes them up the table to Sheril. "There's probably something in here…"

Sheril takes the papers gratefully. He drinks his coffee, eats a scone, and peruses the papers. The normal rhythm of breakfast takes over again—Rhode tries to tackle a geometry question and ends up drawing a creepy doll on the margin of the page; Jasdero combs his long golden hair, parts of which trail in his orangeade; Lulu Bell pets her cat and Tyki continues to eat.

"Who wants to visit Hamburg?" Sherils asks.

"Hamburg?" Tyki says.

"That's what I said. Are you deaf?"

"Tyki's going deaf," Jasdero says, giggling.

Tyki shoots Jasdero a disdainful look before turning his attention back to the beleaguered Sheril. "Such a boring place, dear brother."

"Why Hamburg?" Rhode asks.

"They think they found an accommodator there," Sheril says.

Lulu Bell's gaze flicker towards the papers. "You mean they suspect. So there may be nothing."

"Yes, that."

Rhode leans her sharp little chin on her intertwined fingers. "I wonder who it is."

"Do you want to go, my dear?" Sheril asks.

"Would you let me skip school?"

"Naturally," Sheril says. "This business comes first."

Rhode's grins and bites down on her crayon. The chalk bleeds red across her lips. "I'll go."

"So who else wants to accompany—"

"Shut it, Sheril," Tyki advises his brother. "Rhode is quite capable of handling one accommodator who probably doesn't even have his or her Innocence."

"But—"

"That's settled then," Lulu Bell declares. "I'm off to work. Try not to get assassinated today, Sheril."

* * *

**AN (29.10.16):** Oops, I didn't mean to not update for a whole month, but real life has a tendency to get in the way. So—thank you for your patience, and for reading. As always, please feel free to point out any mistakes.

Clarification: This is not a reincarnation fic. The Earl postponed the war by transferring everyone into the future. This scenario was inspired by EulaliaGal's fic _Yearn _(which is a lovely, tragic piece).


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